Little White Lies
by MidnightRain101
Summary: Irish couldn't deny her feelings for Ben, but he continuously treated her like a child. In order to win over his heart, Irish agrees to pretend to be Spot's girl to make Ben jealous. She didn't expect to fall in love with Brooklyn's pride and joy.
1. Irish the Italian girl

_Author note: Hi hi! Wow, have I missed writing Newsies stories. Well, as some of you may know, I'm the one who wrote that sick, twisted story called "Game of Life," and stupidly left the sequel floating out there. Sadly, that sequel will not be continued. I did have a wonderful storyline prepared, but it went downhill. So, we'll start over new with a different story (and I think it's best to keep away from sequels, don't you think?) So, here is yet another Spot story because, face it, who can resist Spot Conlon?_

The breeze was troublesome as it blew rhythmically through Irish's hair, sending it into a frenzy of dances. The wind was cold and it only brought chills up her spine that Irish couldn't resist. The sky looked dark and the once white puffy clouds threatened rain. But that didn't worry her. She stood alone on the pier, thinking solemnly to herself. Her thoughts had been jumbled up into a tangle of confusion lately and she didn't know whether to worry about the upcoming downpour or just wait for its arrival. She had half a heart to head back home and sort things out there, but that was the problem…she had nothing to sort out.

Irish didn't know what suddenly brought her down. Perhaps it was the change of season; autumn always brought her down. But then again she felt like this a lot lately and she didn't like the feeling at all. The feeling of doubt, of fear, of worry – it truly was exasperating. Irish knew it wasn't because she was soon to turn 18, that couldn't be the problem. It had to be the weather. _Its rained a lot, recently_, she thought bitterly. _It's not easy sellin' in the rain._

Brooklyn was nothing but a hectic and chaotic town; there was always hustle and bustle and it was rare when the streets were awkwardly empty. But today was somehow different. Nobody but Irish stood on the pier and nobody wandered the streets. It was as if it were a ghost town, barely even populated. Everyone seemed afraid of the rain – everyone except Irish. She was nothing but a puny Italian girl living small and second to the middle class, third to the upper. You couldn't compare her to the rich broads in the high class area; no, she was too plain. She had no looks. She wasn't beautiful, but she wasn't ugly. She was 17 and her body still lacked feminine curves. Her hair was only a dark shade of brown in which was stuffed under her hat most of the day.

Irish felt she put most girls to shame. She refused to wear skirts and nice blouses only because nobody really bought anything from a _girl_. So she stuck with dirt covered brown trousers that were too long for her legs and a pink button up shirt that was twice her size. She kept her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a tradition with most newsies. She was short in stature and that only made her look like a weak kid.

Irish took the cap off her head, letting her hair fall just below her shoulders. It felt good to let it down and just relax. She didn't like pretending to be a boy, but then again most of the other girls didn't much like it either. Irish rather missed her old life and her old name. It was as if it were all alien now.

"Ey', whad're you doin' out heah?" a voice asked, causing Irish to suddenly jump. Her calm, sad feeling was gone.

Irish turned her attention to the girl making her way towards her. "Oh, heya Suds," Irish greeted her. "Just thinkin'."

"Well can ya think a little fastah we'se is supposed to be at da Lodgin House before da rain hits," Suds said as she settled a lit cigarette between her lips.

"What for?" Irish asked, curious as to why it really mattered.

Suds shrugged, blowing smoke out of her nostrils. "Dey said dat everyone jus' needed to be there."

Irish shrugged. "Maybe Spot needs to have a word with us," she said, not really caring. Sure, everything their leader said was supposedly important but Irish didn't see why they had to be indoors before the rain hit. She had to admit she hated the rain but it felt refreshing when she just stood out in it.

"Maybe," Suds shrugged, glaring at the sky. "I jus' wish it wouldn't rain. Its gonna be muddy tomorrow."

Irish nodded in agreement as she took one last look at the sky. Suds was right – it was going to be hell. Not many rich folk came out when it was wet and muddy; they were obviously terrified of the filth. They should try living life as a newsie. They definitely wouldn't last two seconds.

Suds turned and began walking away. Irish quickly followed after her, replacing her cap on her head though she didn't pull her hair back up. Nobody was around to judge her so why should she take the time to suffocate it under her hat? She half jogged to keep up with Suds; she was never good at keeping up with people. Everyone took big steps as if they were in a hurry and Irish knew Suds was desperate to keep out of the rain.

The walk wasn't long at all. The Lodging House was quite close to the pier which gave the newsies the advantage. Irish noticed several things wrong as they approached the Lodging House. Spot was standing outside the door, his arms firmly crossed over his chest with a clam yet serious look on his face. His cane hung through his belt loop as always and he had that superior aura. It only made Irish stifle a laugh at how serious and manly he looked tonight.

Spot Conlon was definitely a good looking guy, that was true, but in the end the rumors that people whispered about him just weren't true. Spot was a good leader, but Irish believed that the rumors only ruined his reputation. She knew for a fact that Spot wasn't the type who bedded almost half of New York's population. And she also knew that there was more to him than just Brooklyn. Sure, he put on that cheesy mask that got him through the day, but all of his newsies knew who he really was. Some things weren't just rumors, though. Like how dangerous he could be and how superior and calm he really was.

Girls did fancy him, but that was it. It wasn't _love _like many people would think. A crush is most certainly not _love._ Irish thought Spot was charming, but that was about it. Just charming and handsome. He was clever and sly, and he knew how to use his head. He even gave Irish her nickname.

"You look like an Irish gal I used ta know," he had told her.

She tried to explain to him that she was Italian, but he didn't care. Irish was the name for her. And it stuck like nails. Everyone called her Irish…even Italy. It really irritated her the most when her older brother called her by her nickname as well. She wasn't Irish! But nobody listened.

Miller was Irish's older brother and everyone called him Italy. Mainly because, unlike her, he was actually born in Italy. Irish just stuck with calling him Miller.

"Ey' Spot," Suds greeted the boy who wore the red suspenders so proudly. He really was a king.

"Suds," he nodded. He then noticed Irish. "I see you found one a' dem," he said.

Irish ascended the stairs to stand with Suds in front of Spot. "What's with the new curfew rule?" she asked suddenly.

A smile played at Spot's lips. He and Irish weren't very close, but close enough to not have that awkward feeling in the other's presence. "You'll see," he said mysteriously.

Suds immediately frowned. "But I wanna know da secret," she said. "Da coppers ain't aftah us are dey?"

Spot grinned this time. "If dey were don't you think dey'ed be here already?" he asked.

Suds grunted. She was a burly girl and a tad big boned. Nonetheless she was a fun person to hang with. She swiftly walked past Spot who was several inches shorter than her.

"She's a riot," he said with a laugh that almost sounded fake. Something was surely bothering him.

"She is," Irish agreed with a nod. "Anything wrong?"

Spot raised his eyebrows, stunned at the question. He had been caught off guard.

"Not at all," he said convincingly. But Irish was already suspicious.

"Alright," she shrugged, not really wanting to annoy him with her 'concern.' She walked past him into the Lodging House, greeted with the strange sound of silence.


	2. Harlem steps down

All of the Brooklyn newsies were sitting in an uncomfortable silence that only added on to Irish's worry. She quickly spotted Italy and joined him on the floor.

"What's goin' on?" Irish inquired her brother.

Italy, who supported light brown hair and a charming smile, sent her a grin. He was the good looking of the two siblings.

"I'm not sure," he answered with a shrug. "Everyone was dead quiet when I got heah."

Irish furrowed her eyebrows at her brother. Italy was a closer friend of Spot's. It would only make sense if he knew what was going on but he didn't. He was just as clueless as her.

Irish and Italy were close. They were all that was left of the Lombardi family – or so they believed. Their parents were separated; their father was in the South and their mother was enjoying her job as a prostitute in Harlem where Irish was born. Secretly Irish missed her old life. It was easier when she didn't have to worry about living in the streets and making her own money. She could live without the fighting and bickering of her parents, of course, but she wanted to not have to worry about starving.

"I wonder what Spot wants," a girl said loudly, breaking the deadly silence. It was Sapphire who said it.

She was balancing herself on two legs of one of the chairs, a bored expression on her face. She was good at making an awkward situation interesting. She had nice, long black hair that reached her waist and she wasn't afraid to wear a skirt unlike Irish.

"Dunno," Brains, one of the smarter newsies, said.

Soon the whole room was talking loudly on what Spot might want to see them all for. This was how the newsie Lodging House should be and it was definitely more welcoming for Irish. It felt more like home now. More of the newsies piled into the room to join the others. But the room grew silent again as their leader, Spot Conlon, appeared. He stood looking quite satisfied with their quick reaction to his presence. They truly did respect him.

He didn't smile or even smirk; it was always frightening when Irish saw him like this. It was quite frightening for everyone. His straight and serious face never meant anything good. But then again he was the master at hiding his true emotions by covering them with his one of a kind expressions. A true king he was.

"I'm sure da lot a' you are wonderin' why I rounded you up so eoily," he started, his voice indicating that he had some news. It was too hard for Irish to tell if it was good or bad.

Spot unfolded his arms gradually and pulled his black, gold tipped cane out of his belt loop. He scratched at the gold, pausing to raise the tension and anticipation in the room.

He leaned against the doorway. "I got some very interestin' news from Jack dis mornin'. Some a' you may already know dis, but I jus' wanted to warn all a' you. Harlem has got a new leadah," Spot told them, his words drifting heavily in the room.

Chaos broke out. "What happened to Ben?" newsies were asking.

"Who's da new leadah?"

"Dis can't be good."

"What's goin' on?"

Questions flooded the place. Irish was too stunned to even react quickly enough. _Who could ever replace Ben? _She thought bitterly. _Did he…leave?_

Ben Almond was one of the most supreme leaders in New York; second to Spot Conlon of course. But unlike Spot Harlem _was_ Ben. Nothing meant more to him than his borough and his newsies. He was charming and intelligent, two qualities that stole Irish's heart. Surely he didn't give up his leadership to somebody else. _What did you expect?_ Irish thought. _He found a nice girl and he ran off with her._

Ben was always sweet on Irish; his actions even made her believe he had hidden feelings for her. But she never bothered to ask because his attraction was Harlem. It only made Irish's heart feel heavy to think he left without even telling her. He most certainly would have told her…or at least said goodbye.

Italy looked sympathetically at his sister. Everyone who was anyone knew how much she fancied Ben. Italy even believed Ben liked her as well at one point…that was until he discovered the truth. How he always addressed Irish as 'kiddo' and ruffled her hair. That wasn't romance. But he never told Irish. The boy was three years older than her anyways. Even Spot couldn't help but to glance at Irish.

_Maybe he hasn't left_. Irish twiddled her thumbs, keeping her head lowered to hide her tearful eyes. She wasn't good enough for Ben and he deserved the best. But deep down Irish felt furious. She wanted to scream at Ben for not telling her. Yet it wasn't his job to do so. Why should he care about telling her?

"Okay, quiet down!" Spot said over the bewildered newsies. "Jus' calm down. I'm headin' ovah foist thing tomorrow to go check it out. Till den everyone jus' shut your traps." It was a favor to Irish.

Italy frowned at Spot. He rose from the ground and confronted the leader. "I wanna go with ya, Spot," he said quietly.

Spot stared at Italy for a moment before looking towards Irish but she was gone. He nodded in agreement. "I don't know what's up with Ben but I'm sure he ain't left yet," he told Italy. "Maybe you should tell your sistah da truth. Ben don't share da same feelings."

Italy shook his head. "I can't do dat," he said honestly. "I can't jus' make her feel worse. I think it'd be best if Ben told her himself."

Spot shrugged in response. "He probably ain't even realized how much she likes him yet."

Italy nodded. "Yeah and at foist I thought Ben mighta had some feelins for her but I jus' don't know anymore."

"We'll jus' see what he's up to tomorrow," Spot said.

Irish made her way up the stairs and into the door on the far right. It was the girl's room. Several other girls followed behind, talking amongst themselves. Irish ignored their whispers. She approached her bunk and fell face first on the pillow, hiding her face from the world. _What a day_ she thought sullenly. There were no answers as to why Ben would give up his leadership. There were solutions lingering in Irish's head but she was too confused to even think clearly.

"Oh cheer up, Irish," Delilah said, climbing on one of the top bunks. "The world ain't ovah."

Irish turned over on her back and made a face. _The world is too over_, she thought childishly. She had to admit she felt kind of ridiculous feeling this way over someone. She couldn't help it, though, because Ben meant something to her. It just wasn't fair.

"Yeah," Tan agreed. "No need to feel so down ovah some _guy_." She sounded disgusted.

Irish rolled her eyes at their comments. What did they know about being in love? It didn't seem like any of the girls Irish bunked with knew much about guys. Girls in Brooklyn rarely used their femininity to make money. They had more respect than that. So what did Irish know? Nothing…just like the others.

"Okay, I get it," Irish said. "Jus' get off it will ya?"

The girls shrugged and stirred up another conversation. Irish just hid her face in her pillow, hiding from the rest of the world. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe Ben wasn't really stepping down as leader. Maybe if she opened her eyes things will be back to the way they were supposed to be and everyone would be happy. But it wasn't. Things were still the same when Irish looked up from her pillow. None of the other girls looked at her; it was as if she weren't actually there. She preferred it that way.

It was too early to actually go to sleep so instead of sticking around to listen to the chattering girls she quietly left the room. Irish could hear the majority of the newsies downstairs, talking and laughing. She crossed by a table in which some of the newsies were playing a rough game of poker. It was pouring outside, Irish concluded as she stopped to look out the window. The rain came down like hail beating heavily against the roof and windows. It was a spine-chilling noise yet soothing. Nobody could hear her heart silently breaking.

_Oh stop overreacting! _Irish told herself. _You make is seem like he went all across the world. Grow up!_ She scolded herself as she continued to stare out the window. Though it seemed scary it was magnificently beautiful.

A smile crept on Irish's face. It had to be a misunderstanding. Spot said he only heard it from Jack so therefore it wasn't completely true…yet. Irish felt confident that everything was just misconstrued.

A tap on Irish's shoulder alarmed her as she quickly turned around. "Ey'," Italy greeted her with a tip of his hat. "I wanna ask you somethin'?"

Irish cocked an eyebrow as her brother grabbed her elbow and pulled her away from the Brooklyn newsies. He stared at her briefly before beginning. "I'm goin' with Spot and Rhy tomorrow to see Ben. Do you wanna come along?" His eyes were begging her to say yes.

Irish wanted to immediately tell him yes. She wanted to see Ben – to make everything clear. But a part of her was angry with him and wished to no longer associate with him. "I don't know," Irish admitted dully.

Italy rolled his eyes. "Oh come off it sis, you know you wanna see him. Jus' say yes already," he demanded.

Irish looked to the floor before meeting his eyes. "Fine," she said, "I'll go."


	3. Visits and Disappointment

_Author note: I know it's short, but I really didn't want to put too much in this chapter._

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Irish was up all night, wondering what she would say to Ben if he were still in Harlem. She could imagine his face – those eyes; that smile – it put her in a daze. It was about four in the morning until she actually drifted off to sleep, not really dreaming of anything. Before Irish knew it Suds was shaking her awake.

"Hey, wake up sleepy head," Suds said as she threw Irish's sheets off her. "We got papes to sell."

Irish groaned against the light that blinded her sensitive vision. It felt as if she had dozed off just five minutes go. She rose up, hitting her head on the top bunk causing all the other girls to laugh.

"Ow," she said, rubbing her now sore head. Irish got to her feet and continued on to the washroom, getting dressed as she did so. She threw water in her face to fully wake herself up. Her reflection was rough – gray sags under her eyes and a noticeable frown. She looked terrible. Irish felt nauseous once she thought of seeing Ben. What would he think of her? How would he react? She was frightened by the thought.

Irish skillfully shoved her hair under her hat to make the impression that she were a boy…it was all that convincing. It was a good thing old people couldn't see sharply; otherwise Irish wouldn't sell one pape. She followed Suds down the stairs and out into the streets. Italy was waiting outside.

"Heya sis, you ready to – what happened to you?" Italy stared intently at his sister's face. She looked terrible.

"Nothin'," she mumbled, although Italy already knew the truth. She had been stressing over Ben.

"Well Spot and Rhy are waitin' for us. Best not keep 'em waitin any longer."

Irish followed Italy down the sidewalk and she immediately recognized Spot in his red suspenders and Rhy with that toothy grin. Rhy was a twin – his sister, Dusty, lived in Harlem. It was their family tradition to go out on your own at the age of 11 and take care of themselves. They separated years ago but they still spoke to one another.

Without another word the four of them headed off towards Harlem where Ben was hopefully waiting. Irish once again felt queasy.

Irish bit her lip and constantly glanced over her shoulder. She wanted nothing more than to run and hide under her warm sheets where nobody, not even Ben, could find her. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face him in such a vulnerable state. She wouldn't be able to handle it if there were another woman clinging to his arm.

"You okay, Irish?" Italy asked, a little concerned.

Irish nodded and struggled to keep a straight face. "I'm alright," she lied.

Italy rolled his eyes. He didn't say anything else but Irish knew he was worried about her. Even Spot continued to glance at her every now and then. When she caught him looking he hid his concern with a charming smile and an encouraging wink. He was constantly reminding her of Ben…_Stop that, Rose!_ Irish told herself angrily. _Nobody in this world could ever compare to Ben Almond._

Irish almost regretted saying that she loved Ben. She knew, deep down inside, that he didn't love her back. He treated her as if she were a child and she hated that the most. Irish clenched her fists that were hidden in her pockets.

The day was passing and it was nearly lunchtime when the group finally made it to Harlem thanks to a few generous rides. Irish's palms felt sweaty from the nervous butterflies in her stomach. _Stay calm_, she told herself. _It'll probably do that egg-head some good to get a taste of the real world._

Spot stopped walking, as did the other boys, but Irish was too caught up in her thoughts to notice. Italy nearly jumped three feet into the air when Irish walked straight into him. She was caught by surprise and tumbled to the ground with a small shriek.

"Oh man!" Italy exclaimed.

Irish groaned in the dirt. She turned over on her back and stared at a rough hand extending out to her.

"You alright?" Spot asked as she took his hand. He pulled her to her feet.

Irish nodded. "Yeah, I think so," she said. "Way to go Italy!" she accused as she turned to her red faced brother.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. His eyes seemed to widen in shock at what he saw behind Irish.

Irish, confused with Italy's odd stare, turned around urgently. There he stood, glowing like a god, his feather-light hair blowing lightly in the breeze. There was just one thing missing - the girl Irish imagined to be with him.

"Ben," she said so lowly that nobody, not even herself, could hear.

Ben looked shocked and bewildered. "Pokah night already?" he asked, breaking the awful silence.

"Ben!" Rhy exclaimed with a laugh. "Damn, we was sure you was steppin' down. Ya see Spot, Cowboy was wrong. Looks like all great leadahs make a wrong."

Ben seemed to frown. "Not quite," he said. He stepped closer to the gang. "Jack ain't lyin', Rhy, I am steppin' down."

Irish's heart seemed to sink.


	4. Italy Has an Idea

_Author note: Hey again, just a quick note. I'm used to writing my stories in 1__st__ person, so if I slip up and type in "I," "me," or "my," please let me know. I'm trying to catch as many as I can before I post these. I really wanted to try something different with this story. Different point of view, different plot, different mood. I really hope this isn't boring anybody so far. I actually began this story several months ago but I never got around to giving it much thought (or attention.) So now I'm going to try and devote as much time to this story as I can possibly give. So just point out any mistakes to me and I'll be sure to avoid them in the future. Thanks everyone!_

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Rhy frowned and took a step away from Ben. "You serious?" he asked.

Ben nodded, a small frown playing at his lips. "Unfortunately it is. I'm getting' too old for dis, ya know? I think it's 'bout time I let someone else get their turn as leader and find a real job."

Irish clenched her fists. "Selling papes _is_ a real job!" she suddenly exclaimed.

Ben's eyes landed on her as if she had just arrived. He smiled slightly and stepped forward. "Hey, I didn't see ya there, kiddo," he said.

Irish felt her heart shatter. Italy sent his sister a sympathetic look, but said nothing. "I can't believe you're actually steppin' down," Irish said.

Ben shrugged. "Bein' a newsie isn't everythin', Irish," he told her.

Spot seemed offended by this. "Whats a mattah wit you?" he growled. "How can ya say something' like dat? What happened to you? Harlem used to be everything to ya."

Ben sighed. "Listen, I really don't wanna talk about dis. Not here."

Rhy rolled his eyes. "I see dis was jus' a waste of time," he said. "I'm off to see my sistah."

Rhy sent Ben one last glare before departing. Irish didn't blame him, she didn't feel too comfortable here either. She wanted to hurl a chair at Ben's head - maybe that would teach him a lesson. Or she could 'accidentally' shove him in the streets when a carriage was racing by.

Irish shook off her terrible thoughts and looked away from Ben. How could she hurt someone she cared about? It wasn't like he was moving away. Besides, what he made of his life wasn't any of her business. _Grow up, you big baby_, Irish told herself. _You really disgust me sometimes!_

Italy placed a hand on his little sister's shoulder. "Irish, if you have anything to say, now would be da time."

Irish gave her brother a confused look. He only smiled and pushed her towards Ben, who cocked an eyebrow. Irish could smell him from three feet away, and already she was mesmerized. What was it that she was supposed to say, exactly? She was only here to hear the truth, like the others.

"Well?" Ben asked, slightly frowning.

Irish shrugged. "Nope, sorry," she said.

She turned to leave, but Spot blocked her way. He wasn't about to let her give up. Whether or not she liked it she was going to stay. She needed to sort things out with Ben before it was too late. Spot knew she wasn't in any hurry to approach Harlem's departing leader, so he spoke for her.

"Look, we didn't jus' come down here to hear da truth." It was a lie, but he needed to say something. He grabbed Irish by her shoulders and turned her to face Ben. "We came so _you_ can learn da truth."

Ben sighed deeply. He wasn't sure where any of this was going, and he was already late for an interview with his future employer. Irish could only stare at him, wondering where Spot and Italy were going with this.

"Well, what's da truth, den?" Ben inquired.

Spot seemed to gradually walk Irish towards Ben. "She is," he said. "She's crazy 'bout you, Ben."

Irish's eyes suddenly grew wide and she immediately wanted to rush under a rock and hide. How could Spot just spill her secret like that? What was he thinking? What kind of leader did that to one of his newsies?

Ben didn't seem too phased by Spot's words. Actually, he seemed to tense up. Irish looked away from him, feeling her insides do several different turns. She knew what was coming next - rejection, humiliation, heartbreak…and she was right.

"Look, guys, I got things to do," Ben said. He stared at Irish. "Sorry, kiddo, but lets face it: I'm too old for you."

With those last words Ben turned around and he quickly walked away. Irish felt the tears springing to her eyes, and she immediately wanted to melt into the shadows. Italy stepped close to his sister to comfort her, but she tried stepping away. Unfortunately, Spot was still standing close behind her, and she backed right into him.

"Why did you have to bring me here?" she asked the two. "Did you want me to feel more pain than I already did?"

Without giving Spot or Italy a chance to speak, Irish turned around and high tailed it back towards Brooklyn. Italy sent Spot a guilty look and frowned.

"It was a bad idea to bring her," he said, looking to the ground. "Now she's never gonna talk to me."

Spot shrugged. "At least she knows da truth now," he said.

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Italy kept pacing back and forth in the boy's bunk room, rubbing his chin. He was lost in thought, his mind racing a mile a minute. He didn't know what to do; he didn't know how to make his sister happy. Spot, who lied lazily on his bunk, sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Would ya cut it out already? You're making me nervous," he said.

Italy stopped, letting out a frustrated groan. He stared at Spot briefly and a small, sly grin spread across his face. "I got it!" he said, punching his fist into his palm. "The both of us hate seeing Irish like dis, right?"

Spot shrugged. "Sure - but mainly 'cause you won't shut up about it," he replied.

Italy ignored his comment. "Right, and we both know dat Ben is lyin'." Spot nodded. "So, the only way to make Ben admit his feelings is to stir up some drama. We gotta make him jealous."

"Jealous?" Spot's eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Yeah!" Italy said. "You know, give Irish someone to show off, and give Benny Boy a reason to admit his feelings."

Spot chuckled. "Good luck with dat," he said.

Italy grinned again. "We need someone well known, someone popular, someone who can stir some trouble. Oh say…someone named….Spot Conlon?"

Spot suddenly sat up, hitting his head forcefully against the bunk above his.


	5. The Difficulties of Love

_Author note: Wow, this week has been quite hectic. However, here I am blessing you with another chapter. I'm interested in what you guys think about my story, so please remember to review. Another thing, I would love to know which characters you guys like most when I get to introducing more of them. Personally, I'm quite fond of Italy and Ben. Italy just reminds of Stephen (from _The Game of Life_) and I was always attached to Stephen. As for Ben, well, I suppose you wouldn't understand that yet, now would you? You've barely been introduced to him. For some reason I just like his character. This story gives me the advantage to practice with characters, really. Well, I hope you like it!_

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Spot cursed under his breath and rubbed his head where he had so clumsily smacked it. Italy held back the laugh that was itching up his throat and received a glare from the great Brooklyn leader. Spot got to his feet, no longer worried about his sore head.

"You're crazy," he told Italy. His voice echoed throughout the room.

"It's a good idea," Italy replied. "No, it's brilliant!"

Spot shook his head. "No way, Italy - Spot Conlon hasn't got any time for goils. 'Sides, it'll be awkward with one of my own newsies."

Italy sighed. "But Spot, Ben respects you the most - and you're intimidating! We gotta help my sister."

Spot tightly clutched his cane, and seemed to think this over. He had a reputation to withhold, and with a girl continuously at his side would only make him look weak. A soft spot for a girl wasn't what the Brooklyn king was all about. He was supposed to be tough, mean, and infamous. Irish was a tiny girl with little self-respect. How was Spot going to keep his reputation up with a girl like her?

Italy could feel this chance slipping away and bit his lip. "If you do it," he swallowed, "I'll give you my watch!"

Spot's eyes suddenly widened in shock. Everybody - everybody in Brooklyn - wanted to get their hands on Italy's $200 gold pocket watch, and here he was literally throwing it at Spot if he'd pretend to be with his sister.

"Now you've really lost it," Spot told him. Personally, he didn't like being bribed, but he wanted that watch - no, he _needed_ that watch. He could sell it for more than it was worth, and then he wouldn't be a street rat anymore. _But I like bein' a street rat,_ he thought._ I'll jus' be a street rat with money._

Italy was surprised when Spot held out his hand and said "deal." Italy sealed the deal with a firm handshake.

"But you only get the watch _after_ Ben admits his feelings."

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Italy felt guilty for bribing Spot with his favorite watch. It was always special to him - a gift from his deceased grandfather several years ago. He could hear his voice now, even after so long of living without him.

"_Family comes first, Miller. Put Rosalie ahead of everything, she's all you got."_

Italy frowned, staring at the watch that he held firmly in his hands. Ever since the death of their grandpa, Italy put Irish before everything. His grandpa would want him to make this sacrifice - for Irish's happiness. She _was _all that he had left, and she meant everything to him. This sacrifice was quite hard to make - for any brother for that matter. He was literally begging _Spot Conlon_ to be with his sister. What kind of caring brother was he?

Irish stayed hidden under her sheets, holding back the tears she had been crying all day. The other girls already knew the story, and none of them had the heart to tell her to suck it up. Her heart was broken - shattered! Ben never cared for her the way she cared for him. She had been humiliated, and now here she was, crying her eyes out over some boy! If her mother were still in her life, she'd order her to grow up. She was a big girl now - practically an adult.

But what did her mother know? She was a prostitute, and Irish would never sink as low as her. She loved Ben, she knew she did. _Love is difficult_, she thought. _Why does it have to be so confusing? _Such a small word, yet it meant so much.

There was a loud knock on the girl's bunkroom door. Irish ignored her visitor and remained silent, hoping to fool the person into thinking she was asleep. It didn't work, though, because whoever had wanted to see her rudely entered the room. Irish listened to the footsteps inch closer to her, and stop at the end of her bed.

"So dis is how you get over heartache," a rough voice said.

Irish, confused and bewildered, removed her pillow and lifted her head. Spot had his arms crossed firmly over his chest, leaning against Suds and Daisy's bunk. He had a stern look glued to his face that didn't falter when he saw Irish's condition.

"Go away, Spot," Irish said bravely as she returned to hiding under her pillow. She shivered slightly at what she had just said to Spot Conlon, and hoped he wasn't in a bad mood.

Spot rolled his eyes and moved closer to Irish's bed. "Get up," he told her. "Just 'cause Ben doesn't like you doesn't give you an excuse not to sell."

Irish held on tightly to her pillow as Spot tried pulling it away. She groaned when his strength overpowered hers, and the light greeted her weak eyes. She sat up; he didn't seem phased by her behavior and tossed her pillow over his shoulder.

"Stop cryin' and wash yourself up, Lombardi. I'm gonna leave you for ten minutes, and when I return, whether or not you're fully dressed and cleaned, you're goin' to sell."

Irish knew that arguing with Spot would only get her into trouble, so she got to her feet and stormed off into the washroom. She had to admit, she was afraid of what Spot Conlon was capable of. She knew he meant what he said, and she didn't feel like being humiliated again. She needed to sell, anyway, if she planned to eat today.

Spot, frustrated with the idea of babysitting Italy's little sister, trudged downstairs and plopped down on the last step. She was going to be a handful - Spot was sure of that. She was going to be like a lost puppy, clinging to the infallible king until Ben came out of his shell. Spot still couldn't believe that he was agreeing to do this for some stupid watch.

He frowned, playing with the rubber band on his slingshot. It wasn't a stupid watch, but he felt stupid for letting Italy bribe him so easily. He was a little concerned of what his newsies would think. He was more than positive that they wouldn't be bold enough to joke about it to his face, but would they think him weak? Would his reputation sink into the bottomless pits of the ocean?

It was all the Brooklyn king could think of for the never-ending ten minutes. Irish didn't look at all happy as she walked down the stairs. In fact, she said nothing to him, and only frowned. She knew better than to glare at him, and he knew she wasn't in any hurry to speak to him. Deep down, she felt angry at him and Italy for what they had done.

Irish made to exit the Lodging House, but Spot immediately blocked her way. "Not so fast," he told her. "We have to talk."

Irish wrinkled her eyebrows. Soon, as if out of nowhere, Italy appeared at Spot's side. He had a goofy grin on his face, and instantly Irish knew that they were up to something.


	6. Guilt

Irish eyed the boys suspiciously. They blocked her way from the door, unreadable looks glued to both of their faces.

"What's the deal?" she asked.

Italy's grin widened as he glanced at Spot. "Well, last night I got to thinking'-"

"I thought I felt the world reverse," Irish cut him off.

Italy rolled his eyes and ignored his sister's comment. "Spot and I came up with a plan."

"Truth be told," Spot said, "This was all Italy's plan. If it doesn't suit you, go after him."

Irish sighed and crossed her arms. "What's the plan for?" she inquired.

"To get Ben to admit he likes you," Italy told her.

Irish felt the color drain from her face. She bit her lip and looked away. "I don't want to get involved," she told them. "Your last plan-"

"It wasn't a plan," Italy cut in. "But I think you'll like this one."

Irish felt a sigh escape her lips and nodded for her brother to go on. He grinned eagerly and exchanged looks with Spot. "Well," he began, "Ben ain't ever gonna admit he likes you until he loses you. So, Spot and I think it'd really stir some things up if you and Spot, you know, pretend to be a couple."

Irish's eyes grew ten times their original size and stared awkwardly at the boys. She felt her heart speed up and her face become paler. She opened her mouth to speak, but immediately shut it, lost of words. Italy, concerned about his sister's silence, waved a hand in front of her face. "Hello? Irish, you still here?"

Irish shook her head and slapped Italy's hand away. "You're crazy," she told him, "insane!"

Spot shrugged. "Like I said, it was your brother's genius idea," he said.

Irish held back the urge to cut him with her sharp glare. Instead, a question blurted out. "And you were alright with this?"

Spot shrugged again. "Sure, why not? You think I got anything bettah to do in my spare time? Why not hook up with my best friend's sistah?"

Italy grinned and nodded. "Spot thinks it's a great idea."

"Not really, but I'm willin' to give it a try," said Spot.

Irish switched her gaze to the window and fixed her eyes on the docks. It wasn't a bad idea, really, but a little bit psychotic. Sure, she wanted Ben to share the same feelings as her, but she didn't feel right pretending to be with Spot Conlon. What would people think of her?

She could already hear the eager giggles of the girls she bunked with. She'd never hear the end of it. They would want to know _everything_. Like how she just seemed to get over Ben so quickly. She'd have to make an excuse. _Spot's charm, of course_, she thought. That would be her excuse.

"Well," Irish began. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear. "I guess if you're okay with me using you, Spot, then…"

"Great!" Italy exclaimed.

"But I didn't even answer yet!" Irish thought she sounded like a whining child.

"Yeah, but you didn't have to. I knew you'd want to do it!"

Spot rolled his eyes at Italy's behavior and stepped towards Irish. He held his arm out like a gentlemen. "Shall we, my lady?"

Irish felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Nobody ever treated her like this. She bit her lip and linked her arm with Spot's, and he politely escorted her out the door.

Irish had one arm linked with Spot's, and the other linked with Italy's, and it looked as if she were trying to drag the boys to the distribution center. Nobody was going to know that her and Spot's relationship wasn't real. Once one ear heard it, then every ear will. Word would definitely reach Harlem, and Ben would immediately know what was going on. So, the three decided to keep the secret to themselves. Irish wasn't even allowed to tell Suds.

Irish pulled her arm from Italy and he only grinned that stupid grin of his. She slipped her arm from Spot's, and as she made to walk on her own he suddenly took her hand in his. She felt her eyes widen in surprise. His hand was rough, but also a bit soft. It gave her an unusual feeling to be holding hands with Spot Conlon, but then again it was just an act. She'd have to get used to it.

Spot smirked and sent her a wink. Their fingers were laced together as they approached the distribution center, and Irish could feel all eyes on her. She felt a lump form in her throat, but nobody had the guts to suddenly question Spot Conlon's sanity. They'd interrogate Irish when Spot wasn't around.

Spot walked with his usual superiority, even with a girl at his side. He gripped his cane in his free hand, and held his same, mysterious look. Even with the affectionate, romantic scene before the newsies, Spot was still a bit scary. Even though Spot may have suddenly taken a liking to a girl, it didn't change his reputation. He was still the bad boy king of Brooklyn.

Irish avoided everyone's gaze as Spot literally dragged her to the front of the line. He purchased his usual 100 papes, and she only bought 20. She couldn't find the strength to even look into Suds' eyes, but she couldn't resist. She had expected to see astonishment, or even disappointment. However, she was surprised to see admiration. Actually, with every girl she looked at, that's what she saw. Since when did every Brooklyn girl fall head over hills for Conlon?

Daisy Winthraw, a really good friend of hers, sent her a look that bothered Irish entirely. It was a look of pure jealousy - clear hatred. She wasn't the only one sending Irish this look. Every girl, with the exception of a few, seemed to be sending her daggers. Harsh hate waves.

Irish suddenly felt possessive, and tightly grabbed onto Spot's forearm. The feeling bothered her, only because it wasn't an act. She must have been doing a good job, though, because everyone seemed to tense up. Irish wasn't sure if Spot was aware of the looks she was receiving from the girls, and unknown to her he was fully aware.

Spot shot a look at some of his newsies and they looked away. This was a strange sight. His newsies weren't supposed to act like this. It was a bit odd for him to have every one of his girls glaring at Irish. He never thought any of his girls would have feelings for him. It was awkward for him to just think about it.

Spot led Irish out of the distribution center, and she was immediately thankful. She made to go her own way, but Spot didn't release her. She was apparently supposed to sell with him.

She felt her first pang of guilt. She didn't even bother to suffocate her hair under her hat. It was going to be difficult for Spot to sell with a girl.

"Don't worry 'bout them," Spot suddenly told her. "Surprised me, really."

Irish swallowed and nodded. "That _was_ unusual. Did you see their eyes? Maybe this isn't a good idea, Spot."

"Nonsense," the Brooklyn leader said.

Irish felt tiny under his gaze. He turned away and began shouting out headlines - false beyond anyone's wildest belief. Out of nowhere, a brick wall appeared in front of Irish and she ran into it. She caught her balance and looked up, realizing it wasn't a brick wall at all but a tall, bulky man. She felt embarrassed, and frightened.

"Mind if I buy a paper, miss?" the man asked politely.

Irish grabbed one of her papes and handed it to the man with a shaky hand. He placed a penny in her empty palm.

"Thank you." he tipped his hat and walked away.

Spot was staring at her with a watchful eye. She met his gaze and he smirked, and for first time in Irish's life as a Brooklyn newsie, she finally saw how charming that smirk of his really was.


End file.
